


Absquatulate

by hypno_sis



Series: What could have been [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, But kind of, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Stargazing, Unrequited Love, Well not really, much angst, partial Epistolary, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypno_sis/pseuds/hypno_sis
Summary: absquatulateverb.to leave without saying goodbye
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: What could have been [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926427
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66





	Absquatulate

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE TAKE THE GRIEF/MOURNING TAG SERIOUSLY! This fic has a lot of it. If it's something that upsets you in a way you don't like, please turn back. Your comfort is worth more than reading a potentially triggering oneshot. Please take care of yourself!!  
> This is an alternate version of [Duenova's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duenova/pseuds/Duenova) wonderful story [Apaxionar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26479351)! There is quite a bit of her fluff woven through this, but you shouldn't have to have read that to understand this one. Please do go read it though!  
> [Woozi's "What kind of Future"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T2zV3eGw2sM) is a song which goes with the way I felt when I was writing this, if anyone's interested in song recs.

_“My dear Tom,_ _  
_ _I’m sorry it has to be this way. You and I both know better than most, the world isn’t fair.”_

‘Is this what it feels like to stare into Medusa’s eyes? To feel yourself turn to cold stone, incapable of motion, incapable of _feeling,_ incapable of doing anything but stare?’

How _dare_ he do this? Tom sat on his bed in his dorm, icy coldness radiating from somewhere within him and from the piece of parchment he held as if it was glued to his fingers.

_“Some days, it feels like the world is more unfair than other days. Like today. I’m sorry I’m not there to complain about it with you. I’m even more sorry that I am the cause of it. Even though it’s something I cannot control, I’m so, so sorry, Tom.”_

Tom was done. Tom was _so_ done. Harry had never grovelled to anyone; not to adults making their life difficult, not to bullies, _never_ to Tom. He’d tried to make him more than once, panting in the Room of Requirement in the dark left behind after their duels. He’d certainly thought about it; what Harry would look like on his knees, out of breath, admitting that Tom is more proficient and _can he please stop already._

He’d never imagined it would happen like this.

For a moment, the cold was gone and all he felt was _fire_ burning him, flames creeping along his veins and flaying him from the inside out. He reached for his wand, determined to burn the parchment to pieces. Or maybe set the entire dorm on fire. He’d make everything, sentient or not, feel the fire burning _him._ Maybe that would make it stop.

_“Tom, no burning, exploding, freezing or electrocuting, okay?”_

He… can’t. When his eyes fell on the next sentence, his wand seemed foreign in his hand. Cold, lifeless. Not nearly enough to channel whatever he was feeling. Was he feeling anything? Harry was not as good at curses as he was at defenses, but he wouldn’t put it past him to curse the parchment to make his ribs contract so they feel too small or his stomach perform sharp flips. He’d done it that one Valentine’s day; cursed all Tom’s letters behind his back to sting his fingers whenever he opened them. Yes, this was all Harry’s doing. 

The burning spread to his eyes. 

_“It’s funny that my house is Gryffindor when this is the most cowardly thing I’ve ever done and ever will do. It should be my voice telling you all this in person, but it’s more difficult that you think it is.”_ _  
  
_

Tom scowled at the ink soaked parchment and his fingers dug into it so much that a small _rip_ sounded through. He smelt smoke; he had to check and double check to make sure that it wasn’t him who was on fire.  
  


Harry. 

Selfless, brave, reckless Harry. Harry, who’d dived 50 feet on a broom he’d never ridden before for a Remembrall, Harry who’d poked a Troll in the nose with his wand, Harry who’d helped Tom bury his snake at the orphanage when Tom couldn’t even bear to look at it was the same Harry who had written this. 

He said it was difficult for _him?_ Did he have any idea what he was putting Tom through?

Selfish. Coward. _Bastard._ He should’ve been in Slytherin (with Tom, always with Tom) .

_“When you forced me to go to the Hospital Wing after the last time we duelled and Madame Pomfrey told me that it was Dryditch, I knew then, what was going to become of me.”_ _  
_  
Tom’s ears were ringing; _dryditch, dryditch, dryditch-_

Weakness. (Maybe not tonight, Tom. I want to sleep.)

Hot flashes. (I swear Tom, I’m okay. It’s sunny and you’re hogging all the shade.)

Chills.(What? Am I not allowed to be the proud Gryffindor I am by wearing the most superior scarf?)

Dizziness.(Tom, I just got off my broom, of course I’m disoriented. Your house plays dirty, I tell you. ) 

Near to no survivors. ( _Harry_ )

When had Tom become this- this oblivious? This stupid? 

_  
_ _“I am not afraid of being forgotten, Tom. I see how you treat your possessions, even the tiny thimble and faded red yo-yo you think I’ve forgotten about. I know you’ll take care of your memories of me. You always told me that it was a pity I did not want to make myself known like you did, but you know me, and, even with that stupid big head of yours, that is worth much more than you realize.”_

His head and torso felt like an anchor; too heavy to do anything but sink to the ocean floor, but his legs were light and restless, as if they wanted to run and hide the box under his bed. 

It hadn’t seeped through his entire body that Harry wasn’t there, it seemed. He tilted his head to the side, something he always did when he was trying to understand something, and his chin and cheekbone met thin air and _oh,_ Harry wasn’t clinging to him like the limpet he was. No bird’s nest to tuck into the crook of his neck. He’d always assumed that he hated it and had told Harry so too, multiple times, but it had taken _this_ for him to realize that the warm weight was worth the pain of the bony chin digging into his shoulder.

_“I care for you more than I have anything else, more than I will anything else.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Pretty shitty way of showing it, Tom thought. He swiped his thumb over the small drop of salt splattered on the letter before it could soak through the parchment and make the ink bleed. Some ink got onto his thumb anyway, but he didn’t notice. His senses were unreliable to him; he was both burning and freezing, drowning and bursting. 

He didn’t even know what he was feeling, but whatever it was, it was intense enough to convince him that the windows had broken and he was being thrown around by the current.

_“You’ve always been there, even if you don’t really realize it. You are in all my most precious memories, by my side in all my worst. I wish I could say the same. You’re the one whose suffering my boggart depicts. I never told you even when you interrogated me with all you had, that it was your smile that manifested as my patronus, brighter than any moon, any star could hope to be that night in the Astronomy Tower.”_ _  
  
_

  
He’d never see his patronus again.

Tom would never see Harry’s patronus again. Harry would never see Tom smile again. The next time he went to the astronomy tower, their room would only be lit up by the moon. 

Folding the letter up, he caressed the edges of the stiff, sharp parchment, eyes unfocused. He’d known, of course. Logically, he’d known. That had done nothing to prepare him for the way it finally slammed into his chest with the force of a thousand Stupefy’s.  
A different sharp sting made itself known on the tip of his finger and, Tom looked down, blood was welling up in the thin cut the edge of the parchment had made. He watched the parchment bloom red, unfurling towards the chicken scratch of Harry’s handwriting. He sighed and unfolded the letter again.  
Would he ever be able to walk in the moonlight-drenched corridors again without Harry haunting the shadows in his mind? 

_”I know that I should have told you. We snuck out with a picnic basket (the house elves love me more Tom, and you know it) and lay on the grass. I used your shoulder as my pillow, wondering if you loved telling me about the sky as much as I loved hearing your voice like that; raw, passionate, full of childish wonder._

_I snuck out of my dorm four nights ago intending to tell you everything. But seeing the stars reflected in your eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to say… anything.”_

Tom remembered that night. He’d dismissed it then, the way Harry held his hand like he was memorizing the way his bones felt under his skin. How his eyes were glassy and reflected the moon brighter than they usually did. Tom had thought then that it was dew which had wet the shoulder of his robe when they were both facing the sky, Harry, as always, lying half on the grass and half on Tom.

Tom knew what it was like now, to be stabbed and speared.

_“Later in bed the next day, I spent all night wondering if that was the moment I truly, fully fell in love with you.”_ _  
_  
Tom had a sudden urge to laugh. This was - too much to take in one day.  
  
_“Or maybe it was when you punched Billy and healed my nose when we were seven. Maybe it grew a little every time we talked the night away; something we’ve done for years._ _  
_ _Maybe it was when your stupidly elegant hands traced the night sky with my fingers. You joined the stars for Leo, for me, and somehow me trying to get your star sign out of you ended in you teaching me every constellation. No wonder we always got such high grades in Astronomy; you taught us both to read the sky when the rest of the world was asleep._ _  
_ _Maybe it was when I walked backwards during one of our afternoon walks to cheer you up, and you laughed such a beautiful laugh that I tripped over the roots of a tree. You helped me up, giggling all the while (yes Tom, you giggle. Stop denying it.)._ _  
_ _Actually no, maybe it was the first time I made you laugh and I was blindsided by how_ vibrant _your smile was._ _  
_ _Perhaps when, despite your long rants on why Quidditch was the most useless thing I could be doing, you showed up wearing a bright red scarf to the Gryffindor vs Slytherin match._ _  
_ _The truth is, it could have been any moment in the ten years I’ve known you and you’ve known me. But the bottom line is, Tom, I love you. Present tense.”_

Tom misses Harry. Present tense.

If he had punched all the bullies who’d managed to get away thanks to Harry’s kindness, would it change anything now? If he’d noticed, said something, _anything_ , would it be Harry and not wet parchment with him? What would Harry say if he saw what a mess Tom was?

Tom knew the answer to that. When his snake had died, Tom stayed, sitting next to the patch of fresh, overturned earth. Harry had been there next to him, tactfully saying nothing, nothing about the tears, nothing other than pressing himself into Tom. A fine mist made itself known and when Tom told Harry to go inside, all Harry had said was, “You’re making it rain, and I need to make sure you don’t drown.”

A strange, strangled hiccup escaped Tom. There was water everywhere; sliding in the crease between his lips, pouring in steady streams on his cheeks, dripping on his robe and soaking through the parchment. Tom was drowning, and there was no one to drag him to the shore this time.

_“You’ll walk into the Great Hall today, prepared to suffer. You’ll look for my eyes for a millisecond, then sit down at the table. The mail will come in, and the biggest pile of letters and boxes in the Hall will be yours. Just like every other year. Except, this year, there will be a matte, dull grey box among the shiny, perfumed paper and spiked chocolate.”_ _  
_  
Tom had been right. It had been Harry who’d given him the ornate dagger, just like he had hoped. 

Was he laughing? Sobbing? Did he even know how to do either of the two?  
  
When he had opened the box that morning- soft, smooth; a velvety thing which spoke of class and quality through touch alone- and picked the dagger up with more care than he would a child, traced the faces of the jewels, he’d hoped, hoped, hoped that it was from Harry. Only he would know Tom’s taste and preferences down to which metal he’d want his dagger to be made of. He’d looked for him in Double Potions and had combed the entire school for him by dinner. 

The memory had replayed in his head as he’d turned the dagger over and over in his hands, waiting in the Astronomy Tower earlier the same night.  
A different night, with another pair of eyes dancing in the dark, scrunched in happiness, reflecting the pure light of a patronus.  
Tom didn’t know when he had fallen in love with Harry, but it was difficult to forget the exact moment the tide of euphoria had taken him under and he had realized- so _this_ is what it feels like to be in love.

_“Normally, this is the bit where I say ‘I hope you like the knife’, but we’ve known each other for a decade and talked about everything under the moon. I know what you like. Just promise me that you won’t get caught using it, okay?”_ _  
_ _  
_ It was almost audible; Harry’s voice, lilting and half-joking in that sentence. 

What wouldn’t Tom do to snap out of this horrible nightmare and hear Harry’s voice, not a hollow shadow of it. 

_“I don’t know if you love me the way I love you, but if you did, I’m sorry for shutting the door to a beautiful alternate universe.”_

If only Harry fucking _knew_ , that complete _doofus_.

Tom didn’t even know why he was still reading. He was pretty sure that if the Cruciatus promised psychic and not physical pain, he was now intimately familiar with what it would feel like. His mind hadn’t felt this disorganised and chaotic in years. His head was housing a stormy ocean with bits and pieces of memories and sensations surfacing, unpredictable and painful. The only common denominator in the debris was Harry.  
  


_“I hope you find happiness, Tom. You deserve it. Please remember that. I promise I won’t be mad at you_ ~~_if_~~ _when it’s someone else’s hand in yours when you play connect-the-dots for the thousandth time in the darkness.”_

Did Harry really think ten years’ worth of familiarity was that easy to replicate with anyone else? Did he really think that it was possible for anyone else to replicate _Harry_? 

_“Take care of yourself and Hedwig for me please?_ _  
_ _Love you always,_ _  
_ _Your Harry.”_ _  
  
_

It was a surprise that the letter was still foldable. He placed it on the table by his bed and retrieved the soft, grey box Harry had once touched. He ran his fingers over it, as if he’d somehow sense where Harry’s hands had rested when they were still warm.  
He lifted the dagger out of the box and lay back on his bed with the dagger against his chest like one might cuddle a toy, like Tom cuddled Harry. 

There was a phrase for them, Tom mused.

Yǒu yuán wú fèn.  
Star crossed lovers; destined to fall in love and destined to stay apart. And wasn’t that the most painful thing of all?  
  


Tom lay in bed for what was left of the night, wondering if he could chase Harry to wherever he was with the cold metal pressed against the skin of his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! I'm always open to feedback, so please let me know if you have any! I am a sucker for angst and in an unhealthy relationship with the major character death tag, so I've wanted to write something like this for a while ^-^ Thanks to my lovely sister Nova for encouraging me and helping me write what is essentially fanfic for her fanfic XD  
> Dryditch is a disease I did not come up with, it is from Salamandastron by Brian Jacques.


End file.
